35. Five Shades From Full
Twin golden eyes glowed in the narrow tunnel behind us, twin golden sparks in the black, silhouetted form of a man. In the gloom you could actually see the light from his eyes reflecting off the ancient masonry, twin rows of vertical lines stretching towards us like golden bars.
'You should not have come here, Dakota,' Wulf growled.
Cinnamon and I backed up slowly, stepping out into a pathetic, brick-pillared room, wide and low, littered with old rags and Wendy's boxes. Moments later Wulf emerged between us, standing there in his worn Italian suit, just out of arms' reach.
Then he bulled past us, into the room, and began pacing about. We both relaxed.
'Why are you here?' Wulf snarled, glaring at me out of the corner of his eye.
'You left me no other way to contact you,' I said.
'I told you to butt out,' he snapped. 'Who is she?'
'A friend,' I said warily. 'She's a good tracker.'
'I'm Cinnamon,' she said cheerily. Then her ears flattened as he glared at her, and she looked down, avoiding his eyes.
'She's not a wolf,' he said, glaring at her. 'Why did you bring her?'
'I-I didn't know it was a problem,' I said. 'No one seemed to care, at the werehouse.'
'My beast doesn't know jack about the werehouse,' Wulf snarled. 'Dakota, I told you to stay away, and here you've brought a morsel into my den at my weakest hour!'
'Then let me do your tattoo,' I said. 'It will give you more control-'
'It's too late for that,' he said. 'It will take a week for the tattoo to reach full strength-'
'Then let me do it on myself and transfer it to you,' I said, holding up my bare left hand. 'Remember my butterfly? Cinnamon, show him.'
Wulf stared at my bare wrist, then at Cinnamon's tufted hand, where the design he had seen before now lived. I squeezed my hand and waved it over Cinnamon's wrist, and the sparkle of mana dancing down from my fingers made the butterfly come to life and flap once.
'I don't believe it,' Wulf said, in a voice that indicated that yes, he did believe.
'I've already tested the procedure out with the other tattoo I was doing, which was a much more complicated design,' I said. 'Come back with us. I've made the needles and mixed the pigments. Come back to my studio and we'll do the tattoo tonight.'
'It's too late for that,' he repeated, his eyes glowing an even brighter yellow.
'His wolf is angry,' Cinnamon said. 'Don't be making eye contact-'
'Come on, Wulf, try, you've got to try,' I said, looking at the ground. 'It's not even eleven, and the moon won't be right overhead until midnight-'
'Dakota, you fool,' he roared. 'The moon rises an hour earlier every day. Even now it stands over our heads, five shades short of full!'
Suddenly Wulf snarled, a great rumbling crackle that seemed to ripple through the room. His eyes seemed to flare, twin torches. He hunched low, growling, snarling-then in one spasmodic movement pulled off the coat of his suit and hurled it to the ground.
'Don't run,' Cinnamon said. 'Whatever you do, stand your ground. Don't run.'
But I couldn't move. I was mesmerized. Wulf was stripping before me. On some distant level I realized that was a threat, but all my eyes saw were the few tufts of grey in the hair on his tanned, ripped chest, the crisscrossing lines of some ancient tattoo or brand rippling down from that chest over his washboard flat stomach, and his buff arms, muscles bulging and shifting like the skin was packed with croquet balls.
But then the croquet balls began to move, the skin to ripple, his features to shimmer. When my eyes drew back to his face, I saw something hungry and alive peeking out behind those golden eyes, something that had always been there but… suppressed. But the beast was not suppressed now. It was awake, aware-and coming out.
'What do we do?' I said desperately. 'He's just about popped his cork-'
'You stays still,' Cinnamon said. 'Right now his man thinks you're his girlfriend-but if you runs, his wolfwill think you're prey.'
'What about you?' I said.
'I'll run,' Cinnamon said. 'I'll lure him-whoa-'
Wulf snarled and pulled his pants down, kicking them away. Tremors ran down his taut legs, part muscle spasms, part something more. Neither Cinnamon nor I could seem to tear our eyes away from him, from the muscular legs, the dark briefs.
'Yes, run, little one,' Wulf snarled, dropping to a squat, one hand touching the ground as the other hooked in to his briefs. Fur began rising on his forearms, and he turned his legs to pull the briefs away as the hair of his chest and abdomen thickened into a full pelt. 'Run! Take me away from Dakota before I slay her!'
And then he roared, more like a lion than a wolf, black fur erupting from his arms and spine, sharp cracks sounding like gunshots as the bones of his legs stretched and bent. His thighs and calves shortened as his feet lengthened, turning his ankle in to the backwards 'elbow' of a dog's leg. The bones of his face snapped and popped as a muzzle forced its way outward, and there were horrible ripping sounds as he fell to all fours and thrashed, fur and claw and bone erupting everywhere I could see. A rapid-fire succession of pops sounded as his spine bent and cracked upward. He grew larger, more powerful, and I felt wave after wave of mana wash over me, forcing me back against the wall.
'Don't move, for God's sake, don't move!' Cinnamon hissed. She dropped to a crouch at the entrance of the tunnel, fur rippling out over her own face, claws lengthening, snarling at the behemoth wolf that now stood before her. 'Here, doggie, doggie, want a little treat?'
The great wolf snarled and leapt forward, and Cinnamon shot back into the tunnel. I twitched-I couldn't help it-and the wolf stopped, one golden eye fixed on me.
I froze, not making eye contact. The wolf padded up to me, growling, sniffing. It was huge, its shoulder coming well over my hip-and was perhaps the most beautiful animal I'd ever seen. Then it whined, a low, plaintive whine, and shook its head back and forth. It looked up at me, and the golden eyes had gone green and human. The wolf whined again, almost pleading-like Wulf was in there, somewhere, desperately trying to snap out of it.
Suddenly a whistling came from up the tunnel. 'Hey, doggie doggie,' Cinnamon cried. 'Like to go chasing a cat?'
The human eyes vanished into a golden glare and the wolf snarled at me. With a supreme effort I remained still as it whipped away, down into the tunnel, howling and giving chase. Crashing sounds, running feet and clicking claws echoed back up the tunnel, and then the horrible scream of a cat in terror.
'Oh, God,' I said, 'what have I done?'
36. The Waiting Game
Terrified, I screwed up my courage and went after them. By the time I entered the tunnel, the running feet, snarling wolf and screeching cat were long gone. I had no idea what I would do when I found them; maybe there was something I could do with my tattoos? Or perhaps I could coax Wulf back to human-perhaps not with Cinnamon there; she was definitely an agent provocateur. But I had to try, damn it. I had to try.
Halfway down the tunnel my coat caught on a root projecting from the wall. I reached down to untangle it, but got only more caught up with the bony protrusion. I looked down, and was shocked by a familiar butterfly, flapping its wings against the black shadow of the 'root' that had grabbed me. Shadows and mist clinging to the 'root' dissipated like ripples on a pond, leaving Cinnamon standing there, her butterfly-tattooed hand holding me back, her other hand held to her lips as she looked down the tunnel, ears alert, eyes speculative.
